


Shattered

by hanyou_elf



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it. ~Helen Keller</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

_Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it. ~Helen Keller_

Perhaps this was the final time.  No more shoving the needle into veins too close to the surface, no more euphoric traipsing in a drug induced stupor, waiting for the pain to fade.  A much more powerful drug had been introduced now anyhow.  And its name is Derek Morgan.

My eyes close behind the heavy rims of my glasses and I settle in the floor of the bathroom.  Derek is going to come over later tonight.  I need to get the peak out of my system before he comes.  Especially since I have no desire to continue taking it.  Perhaps coming off of the powerful hallucinogen will increase my productivity in the field.  Remembering words and phrases has become harder; concepts are sometimes impossible to recall.  But without the heat of the dilaudid running through my veins, my body trembles and I feel like I’m shaking apart.

I shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t fill this syringe with liquid poison.  It should not be pushed into my skinny body and emptied.  I should not eagerly anticipate the euphoria.  The painful memories it dredges up.  What am I addicted to?  The feeling of dilaudid running through me or the memories that parade through my mind, reminding me of a past I’d much rather forget.

Fingers, dexterous only here in this situation now, pull the familiar needle from the second drawer in the vanity.  Amazingly, the clear vials of the dilaudid clink in my hand as I shuffle them around a bit.  The desire, the temptation to have more, to just disappear in the haze of its powerful grip is overwhelming.  Clumsily, the rubber band tourniquet is fumbled around my arm, slowing blood flow, encouraging my vein’s appearance.

There is a part of me that morbidly hopes that Derek comes in now and finds me here, cowered in the floor, at my weakest moment.  The other half hopes I’m never found.  That Derek has forgotten about me and I’m allowed to float on the black cloud of destruction uninterrupted.

Amazing really, that the dilaudid brings nothing but the negative memories.  Nothing but the things that would encourage me to take more to forget.  If I did that, I would be giving in though.  I would have overdosed a long time ago.

The perfect vein is obvious, showing in the crook of my elbow.  I can feel it throbbing, calling for the cold needle to slide into the skin, the burn of the drug swimming through my blood.  I want to disappear into its grasp.  And I know I’m not strong enough to fight it off.

My eyes roll as the tip is pushed down.  Leaden, molten lava pours through my skin and I fall back against the vanity supporting me.  Oh, it’s so good and so hard and I just don’t know how to react.

-.-.-.-

It is summer again.  Only May and it’s already sweltering.  I went to school this morning and was sweating early.  The last week of school is the hardest to make it through.  The bullies are always eager to have their last chance at their victims before the next school year.  Last year I’d been tied to a football goal post.  I had been tricked into believing that she’d wanted to talk to me, even though I really should have known better.

I’m scared to know what they’ll do this year.  Their last year with me.  What will these men and women do to me?  A child in comparison.  But they’ve already told me that if I want to learn with them, I’ll be treated like them.  There is no help.

Two-fifteen is both a blessing and a curse.  I can go to the relative safety of my home, but before I can, I must make it out of the school.  Past the teens and young adults who are violently intimidated by my intelligence.

I am almost out of the building, almost to freedom when a thick arm wraps around me.  Today is their chance for revenge, before we graduate.  A gasp escapes me, the first of many noises I know they’ll wrest from me.  A punch knocks my glasses off, and when I open my eyes, crying from the hit, I see the football field.

No.  Not again.  It can’t happen again!  It took so long to get down last time.  So long to get free and it did so much damage to my shoulders and my stomach.  To my penis.  It can’t happen again!

“The freak remembers!” one of the boys laugh.  I’m pretty sure it’s the school’s quarterback.  The king of the school.  Everyone loves him, except the ones he teases mercilessly. 

“Don’t!  Please, please don’t!” I’m begging him as I thrash against his powerful hold.  He’s too strong for a child pre-puberty who weighs all of an intimidating hundred pounds.  I’m squirming, anything to get him to let me go.  The words fall out of my mouth, head over foot.  Tumbling in a chaotic mess.

Uselessly.

“Freak,” the quarterback repeats.  His word is punctuated with a fist in my stomach.

“Know-it-all,” another male grumbles.  His fist hits my head.

“Monster,” a third voice challenges.  His foot lands heavily on my thigh.

A grunt of pain and a short shriek of surprise is his only reward.  I fight with everything I’ve got, but it’s nothing really.  And as I hang helplessly from somebody’s powerful grip, the only thing to do is take it.

Fists, feet, and insults fly mercilessly.  That’s what happens to a child left alone with a group of men who don’t know nearly as much as they thought they did.  And I cry, because it’s all I can do anymore.

When they stop, there’s blood in my mouth, on my face, in my eyes.  My body is sore, broken under their hateful touch, and all I can do is lay on the ground crying.  Just crying.

-.-.-.-

Childhood is supposed to form the basis of all grounded adults in functioning society.  A happy childhood indicates an adult well adjusted and capable of handling everyday pressures.  An abusive childhood leads to either further abuse in the never-ending cycle, or an advocate for protecting children.  I read about it as a child and I decided that I would be a happy child.  I would be an adult well adjusted to life.

Sitting on the floor of my bathroom, shirtless and in my boxers does not lend credence to my desperate attempt as a child to adjust. 

But the dilaudid is so good in my system, and all I can think of is the pleasure of being wrapped in its numbing arms.  I’m such a coward, but it’s so good.  Oh the irony of death at the dilaudid’s hands.  I just want oblivion at its powerful hands.

Instead, I get memories.

-.-.-.-

I’d brushed the hardened flesh accidentally in the shower.  I hadn’t expected the rush of pleasure, the fire that burned through me at the light touch.  I’m only fifteen though, and it’s when my body begins to become sexually active.  I wish I were normal.  I can’t help cursing my fate as I crouch in the shower, playing with my erection.

I’m hard.  My body is alive in a way I’ve never understood before.  I’ve read about it obviously, but physical limitations keep me from having experienced it before.  I’m not sure what it was that ignited this occurrence either.  All I know is that it’s too pressing for me to simply ignore.

My head falls back as my hand moves steadily.  Do I imagine a vagina?  Do I imagine feminine legs spread before me, breasts pert and nipples hardened?  Do I imagine a woman who is actually willing to lay with me?

They are images that do nothing for me.  Ingrained pictures that mean nothing.  Who would I objectify sexually?  No starlets call to me.  Do I feel shame for my inability to fantasize?  Am I abnormal in this too?

Even as my body tenses, preparing for my first orgasm in coherent thought, I feel a sob breaking through me.  My mind is filled with thoughts of the track star that I tutor in history.  The long lines of his lean body as he stretches, pacing as he recites his history facts.  I can’t help imagining his touch on me, of his hands where mine are, his lips on mine.

Sinful and erotic.

It’s almost there.  I’m so close.  I want to catalogue all of my reactions so I know what’s going on, to reflect when I’m not overwhelmed with images of Benjamin.  Suddenly, the shower curtain is pulled open, exposing me and my pitiful attempt to explore my body.  I jump and curl in on myself, refusing to cry yet.  Maybe it was an accident!  Tears burn in my eyes, but they won’t fall.  I’ve learned to control that enough.

“Look, the kid is human after all,” the boy on the left laughs.  Paul.  Paul Johnston, sophomore.  I recognize him from the student directory.  His buddy is Erick Green, also a sophomore.  Although he’s less intimidating than Paul.  Paul is a frat brother.  Erik is only a pledge.

“We’re relieved to know that,” Erik grunted.  “I think we interrupted something though.”

“Oh, I think you’re right,” Paul laughed in a voice that was anything but remorseful.  “Look how tiny though!  Remember the good ol’ days when your dick was this useless?”

Erik scrunches his face in faux concentration and concern.  Calculated, all of it is so calculated.  “I don’t know about that small or useless, but surely we can help him out.  He looks confused.”

“Don’t, please,” I beg softly.  “Just leave me alone.”  I’m scared.  Will they tie me to a goal post too?  Will they hurt me?

Paul doesn’t say anything.  He gestures with his hand and Erik gives him my towel. Without another word, before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, Paul is naked and I’m pressed against the furthest wall.  A shudder of disgust and a teasing tickle of hot lust pours through me, and I look away.  I can feel his erection pressing into my stomach, demanding attention I don’t want to give.

“Now listen, because this is important.  I’m going to teach you a lesson and you’re not going to make a sound.  Every sound you make is going to cost you.  And I’m willing to bet you can’t pay the price.”

A large hand wraps around my neck and holds me to the wall.  It’s hard to breath, to think, but I force myself to focus, to remember everything.  Paul is going to teach me a very important lesson about men who like other men.

The towel is forced into my mouth and Paul orders me to not drop it, or else.  All I can do is tense my jaw and nod dumbly, hoping it’ll all be over soon.  Tears pour down my face.  This is a new terror, far worse than anything else I’ve dealt with.

The hand leaves my neck and I struggle to breath deep.  It’s hard, since I’m only breathing through my nose and I’m beginning to panic.  Paul’s hands are tracing my body, exploring it with calloused fingertips.  I nearly jump out of my skin when he fondles me, and I’m ashamed at how small I am in comparison.  He completely covers me with his body.  There’s no way I can fight him off.

The terror is pure and complete.  I’m frozen to the spot.

I can’t fight as a hand slides lower, pushes against my butt.  “It… he’s going to… Please,” I beg through the towel, my teeth clinging desperately.

“No noise,” Paul growls.  My head slams back against the shower wall and the tears finally fall.  I’m proud that I bite back the wail building within me.  I clench my eyes shut against the confusion, pain and dizziness in my mind.  Desperate to ignore the hands sliding over my body.

He lets me get away with a grunted scream as my virgin body is penetrated.  I don’t know what it is, I’m sure I don’t want to know.  He moves it in me, and it’s so odd and scary and uncomfortable.  The only thing to do is pray it’ll be over soon. 

My back is flush against the wall, my legs are angled before me, supporting me for his pleasure.  All I am is a toy for him to play with.  I clench my eyes shut and pray.  I don’t really hold to a faith, preferring to trust in science and knowledge.  Faith is hard to hold onto when you’re a child prodigy like myself.  I just beg whoever is out there, whoever listens, to let it end quickly. 

More is shoved into my body.  How can it take so much and still not break?  My hands push uselessly against his chest.  But he’s got the advantage of size, of power.  Of age.  A man taking a child companion, breaking and destroying the child all because he’s strong enough to.  Because the child can’t stop it.

Paul’s eyes are dark in lust and heavy with desire as his hand pushes deeper.  There’s no way in any world that this is right.  Erik only watches though, eyes wide as they travel Paul’s naked back and my scrawny, under-developed body as Paul abuses it.

Paul is a pedophile.  But a college senior doesn’t really qualify as a child anymore.  I’d been taught that lesson in high school.  If I want to live my life with the adults, I must expect to be treated like one.  A man masturbating in the shower invites sexual assault.  Weakness attracts the predators.  And I’m one of the weakest people on this campus.

I whimper as he pulls out of my body.  I feel strangely empty, but it’s hard to breath because it all hurts.  Relief teases me, maybe he’ll go away now that he’s had his humiliating fun.  But luck is quite often against the weak, often against the innocent.  There’s no chance I’ll get out of this situation without more happening.  I know it, I hate it.  I’m scared.  This is going to end badly, no matter how much the opposite is wished for.

“Turn around and bend over.  Put your hands on the wall,” Paul ordered in a voice that was too heavy with something I couldn’t identify.  It was deeper, thicker.  A tone I’d never heard before.

When I don’t obey immediately, my head is slammed against the wall again.  Darkness threatens and he hits me again.  I drop the towel as I cry out, desperate to make it all stop.  This is too much, an invasion that shouldn’t be allowed to continue. 

I obey, trembling as I turn, knowing that by doing so I’m inviting more pain.  But going along with his commands means it will be over sooner too.  I won’t have to wait so long to crawl back to my room and hide in my blankets, a good book open before me.

Spacing out does me no good though.  Paul’s hands move on my back, over my exposed butt and hips.  My arms are braced on either side of my head, supporting me.  Tears pour in a river that’s unending.  But my mind, desperate to run from this moment is forced painfully to attentiveness when my shoulder is thrust into the wall. 

My body is being torn apart; my mind exploding in pain.

-.-.-.-

His penis was deep inside me.  He was tearing me apart with it!

“Pretty boy,” Derek’s voice cuts through the haze of my confusion.  Fuzzy images coalesce to create the handsome visage of my dark skinned lover.

“Derek,” I groan, my tongue thick and heavy.  I lift a shaking hand and touch his face.  He’s not supposed to be here yet.  He’s not supposed to come until well after dark.  Maybe it’s just the dilaudid talking to me again.  I’m just hallucinating.  So I just say the first thing that comes to my mind.  “I’m glad you’re not Paul.”

“Who’s Paul, baby boy?” Derek murmurs as he kneels before me.  His hands slide over my cheeks, a comforting gesture that both soothes and terrifies.  I’m torn between falling against him and closing my eyes in relief and doing the best that I can to flee from him.

A kiss to my forehead and I sigh softly, leaning into him.  Derek can be so hard to resist.  And he’s so comfortable and close and beautiful and strong: everything I can never have in my life.  Except as a presence to protect or hurt me.

“Who’s Paul?” he asks again.  His voice is stronger, more persuasive now.

“He took… raped me,” I answer honestly.  What point is there in lying to Derek anymore?  Especially since he knows the name.  He isn’t stupid, not by a long shot.   He’s smart enough that I know he’ll figure it out.  Even without being told explicitly.  He’s got experience in that field too, my beautiful, dark-skinned lover.  Raped and molested as a child.  It taught him something that made him stronger and much more resilient.  Whereas my experiences taught me nothing more than to just endure.  To just survive without breaking, no matter how painful.

“Reid,” he says seriously.  “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It was ten years ago.  I was a college senior and he was a sophomore in a fraternity.  I’m sure you can see his rationale,” I slur. 

At least, that’s what I thought I said. 

“Just because you were a kid doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nobody wanted to help a kid in an adult situation.  I learned that in high school.  Just because I was younger didn’t mean I got any special treatment.  I had to learn to protect myself!” I scream.

I scramble for purchase on the floor.  I need to get up.  I can’t sit here and listen to this.  I can’t be told that I should’ve been protected.  I should have been a lot of things.  Life isn’t fair though.  That’s how we get our individual experiences, that’s how we become better people.

“Stop, baby,” Morgan growls and wraps his long arms around me.  He’s so strong.  Such a foundation of strength.  “Come on.  Hear me out.”

All I can do is sag against him.  He’s not going to hurt me.  He isn’t going to coddle me either.  I’m confused.

“What’d you take?”

“Dilaudid.”

“How much?” he asks carefully, running a hand through my hair.  He tucks a strand behind my ear.  Painfully sweet.  Penitent.

“Enough,” I breath.  Oh how comforting he is.  I can’t help but relax against him.  “I wanted to be on the downward slope when you got here.”

“Why?”

“Tobias was right.  It makes it easier to deal.  No more rationalizing or compartmentalizing.  I take it, wait a few minutes, and don’t worry about it.  So much easier.”

“It’s not working,” he murmurs into my hair.  “Your memories, the ones you’d rather forget are closer than ever.  That’s why you were afraid I was Paul.”

“I’m falling apart, Morgan,” I whimper.  “Everything I am is broken.  I can’t be fixed again.  Escape while you can.”

“I’m not going away, baby,” Derek promises softly.  His head bows and we’re forehead to forehead.  My exhales are mingled with his inhales and vice versa.  This is a more intimate situation than  we’ve been ever in.  Even with all the sex we’ve had, all of our nakedness.  He’s immersed in my weaknesses, and he’s sitting here, holding onto me.

“You’re going to be my rock?” I ask skeptically.  “You’re going to protect me?”

Derek wraps his arms tight around me.  He pulls me into his embrace and just holds onto me.  He presses kisses to my lips, to my cheeks, and forehead.  He’s reassuring me in the best way he knows how, the only way that’s worked in the past.  Large hands slide down my naked arms and up my back.  His heart beats slowly, a heavy thump my hand is rested over.  It’s another of those things to make me more comfortable, to support me as best as he can.

“We’re going to take care of you, baby,” Derek says softly as his lips dance over my face.  He shifts on the floor and falls back on his butt.  As he moves, he pulls me into his lap and I’m forced to straddle him.  “I’m going to take care of you.”

I can’t help but shudder.  This is something I’m familiar with.  More than familiar with, a comfortable position that is everything I can ever hope for.  This is the way we usually end up, how we get together and physically resolve our anxiety.  I love him.  I know he loves me, but I’m frightened that he’ll hurt me, and I’m afraid of his power over me.  He could break me and not think twice about it.

But there’s the excitement.  The danger in giving myself to him.  Fear.  “Let me go,” I beg softly.

“Let go with me,” Derek answered.  His lips take mine and I let him have the domination of this moment.  A hand is wrapped around my lower back, encouraging me  to arch against him.  His tongue is in my mouth, and I’m pressed as tightly against him as possible, rocking against him as I force my past behind me.

Derek is my lover, my protector, and I need to be reminded of how much I love this man; everything that I’ve done for myself to get to this point.  I need to remember that this man has given me all of his love, his support to just exist.  He recalls the need for passion in me. 

He brings back the compartmentalizing ability in me.

“Derek, I love you,” I gasp against him.  Surprising how hard I am, but I’m relieved for it too.  I can feel his erection pressing against me, demanding attention.  And I’ll give it to him.  Because no matter what happens, I love this man far too much to ignore his desire for me.  
 


End file.
